Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  There was, however, a more pressing concern: the group in the harbour had split in two, one heading east, the other heading west along the shore path.

  ‘Shit.’

  Keeping his eyes fixed on Carnifex, Indavara backed up to the door.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Looks like a search party. Coming our way.’

  ‘Here. Swap.’

  As Cassius took his turn to guard the sleeping centurion, more questions assailed him. Would the legionaries remember the hut? Would they see it from the path?

  All they could do was wait. Every few moments Cassius would stick his head out of the door to see how much closer the torches were. At one point he heard – or imagined he heard – Carnifex say something. He walked over to the lamp and looked down; the centurion was asleep but mumbling into the gag.

  ‘They’re coming off the path, straight towards us,’ said Indavara.

  Cassius retreated to the doorway. ‘All of them?’

  ‘No. Some are continuing along the shore. One torch. Looks like two men.’

  Cassius felt a tap on his arm.

  ‘Hold this.’ Indavara offered him the stave. ‘If he stirs, hit him again.’

  Sliding his blade out of its scabbard, Indavara continued: ‘What do I do if they’re Carnifex’s men?’

  Cassius took the stave. ‘Whatever you have to.’

  Now he could hear the soldiers’ boots striking pebbles as they strode across the sand. He snatched a glimpse of the shadowy figures below the torch. They were no more than five yards away when one of them spoke.

  ‘It’s Noster. We’re coming in. Stay out of sight.’

  Indavara hurried inside and stood by Cassius, who wiped sweat away from above his mouth.

  Noster walked in, the sizzling torch in his hand. The second soldier was another of the men who’d been at the quarry. They spied Carnifex in the corner and stared at him. The centurion’s eyes opened. He squinted up at the torch, then grunted as he struggled to free himself, teeth bared over the gag.

  Indavara moved closer to him and waved his sword in Carnifex’s face.

  ‘Calm yourself, old man.’

  ‘Some of the First Century are with us,’ explained Noster, still unable to take his eyes off Carnifex. ‘We volunteered to check in here – all part of the show.’

  ‘What about the ship?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Eborius and some men from the First. Bunch of idiots – they don’t even know who was on there to start with, let alone who might be missing.’ Noster grinned, his uneven teeth lit red by the flames. ‘Procyon and Mutilus aren’t coping well. They’re panicking.’

  ‘You should go,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Good luck, sir,’ replied Noster.

  He pushed the other man out of the door and they set off for the shore path at a run.

  Indavara let out a long breath as he sheathed his blade. Cassius returned his stave and glanced over at Carnifex. The centurion’s head was between his knees. He looked like a beaten man.

  XXVII

  Once the soldiers’ torches were gone, the only remaining lights were the lanterns aboard the Fortuna. When it was his turn to be outside, Cassius would gaze at them and occupy himself by imagining each person aboard. He left Clara until last and devoted at least an hour to various possible scenarios they might enjoy together. He was surprised to be able to think of such things, but the mind-numbing boredom and sapping tension of their night-long vigil demanded the occasional distraction. Apart from a few shouts from the town, all they heard was the gentle lapping of the sea and the occasional snore from Carnifex. Remarkably, the centurion slept on until dawn, only waking when Eborius returned.

  ‘All clear?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Not quite,’ replied Eborius, who looked as weary and unkempt as Cassius felt. ‘There are still a few of the First Century hanging around. I’ll try and keep them out of your way. Give it half an hour, then make your move.’

  ‘What’s happening? Noster said Procyon and Mutilus are panicking.’

  Eborius came further inside the hut. ‘With good cause. Two of their search parties ran into Maseene during the night. They’ve four dead, twice that wounded.’

  He stared at Carnifex. ‘The soldiers are starting to think he’s dead too. And some of the Roman townspeople are talking about leaving. If you don’t go soon they’ll be piling onto the Fortuna.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  Eborius pressed a knuckle against his brow. ‘If Procyon and Mutilus will listen to me, I’ll withdraw the First Century to the town, then try and find someone to act as an intermediary. See if we can negotiate, restore some sort of order, some sort of peace.’

  ‘You can do it. I’m sure of it. And once I’ve contacted the governor in Cyrene you’ll get some help.’

  Eborius didn’t look convinced. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘My thanks for all you’ve done,’ said Cassius as they gripped forearms.

  ‘Farewell,’ said Eborius to Indavara.

  ‘Farewell.’

  Carnifex strained at the ropes, bulging eyes locked on the younger centurion. Eborius took one last look at him, then loped back to the shore path where he’d left his horse. Carnifex slumped back against the wall and stamped down hard on the floor. Indavara kicked over the oil lamp and joined Cassius at the doorway. They watched Eborius hoist himself on to his mount, then set off at a gallop towards the causeway.

  ‘Is this him?’

  It took a moment for Cassius to register that he’d heard Annia’s voice.

  Indavara turned first. ‘Get away from him!’

  Cassius spun round. She was just inside the other door, standing over Carnifex.

  The centurion twisted and swept his right boot into her, knocking both her legs away. She cried out as she landed on the ground beside him.

  Indavara charged across the hut, ready to swing the stave at Carnifex. He halted with the weapon a yard from the centurion’s face. Cassius stopped too.

  Carnifex’s right boot was hovering just above Annia’s neck. The front two hobnails on the sole were unusually long and had been sharpened to a lethal point. Winded by the fall, Annia coughed and spluttered as she stared up at the spikes. Carnifex nodded towards the doorway.

  Indavara lowered the stave. He and Cassius retreated.

  Carnifex put his left boot on Annia’s jaw, pressing her face into the floor. She was whimpering, spittle running down her chin. Careful to keep both boots in position, Carnifex bent his head towards her and moved his mouth.

  Cassius had seen the look on Annia’s face before: on sacrificial animals before the priest’s blade slit their throat.

  ‘You hurt her, I will knock your head off,’ Indavara told Carnifex, who moved his mouth again and nodded at Annia.

  ‘Annia,’ said Cassius gently. ‘Annia, look at me.’

  She did so, though her hair half covered her eyes.

  ‘He wants you to take the gag out of his mouth. His hands are tied; he can’t do it himself. Can you pull the gag down?’

  Carnifex kept his eyes on Indavara but bent his head closer to Annia. She managed to reach up with her left hand.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Cassius.

  Annia gripped the top of the gag and pulled it out of Carnifex’s mouth. He sucked in three deep, rasping breaths before speaking. ‘You two do anything I don’t like and I’m going to make a big hole in that little neck. Weapons on the ground, One Ear. Back to the door.’

  Indavara stayed where he was.

  Carnifex pushed his left boot down on Annia, distorting the lines of her face.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ snarled Indavara.

  Cassius grabbed him by the arm and hauled him backwards. ‘What’s wrong with you? Do as he says.’

  Indavara’s face was flushed, his muscles tense. He put down his stave.

  ‘Blades too,’ said Carnifex.

  Indavara threw his dagger to the floor, then pulled his sword belt off and dropped it. He withdrew
to the doorway.

  ‘Sword next to One Ear’s,’ Carnifex told Cassius. ‘Then take out your knife and throw it over here close to my hands.’

  Cassius complied. The dagger clattered on to the floor but Carnifex left it where it was, instead pushing a section of the reed matting aside. He then reached down and shifted a couple of the bricks below. When he was satisfied with the arrangement he picked up the dagger handle and jammed it between the two bricks. Then he began to move the ropes tying his wrists up and down the blade.

  ‘You boys were doing all right, but I reckon you didn’t count on Beautiful here. Who is she?’

  Cassius said nothing. Indavara shifted his feet.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, One Ear,’ said Carnifex, still working the ropes along the blade. ‘Might not kill her straight off, my special studs, but I don’t reckon you’ll stop her bleeding. Ask yourself – you really want to see that?’

  Carnifex was by now through enough of the ropes to free himself. He picked up the dagger, sliced through the gag, then pulled it away. With a smug grin, he shook off the last of the rope.

  ‘How you feeling there, Beautiful?’

  Annia was coughing. Carnifex put the blade to her throat and encircled her neck with his other hand. He pulled her up off the floor with him, his eyes not once leaving Indavara.

  ‘What’s the name?’

  Annia’s whole head was shaking, her unblinking eyes unnaturally wide.

  Carnifex pressed the metal into her skin. ‘Come on now, don’t be shy.’

  ‘A-A-Annia. Annia Augusta Memorus.’

  ‘Memorus, eh? Well, well. Looks like you know these two, but let’s complete the introductions. I’m Valgus Carnifex. And yes – I’m him. The one who had your father killed. But don’t take it personal. I’m sure it won’t stop us getting along fine.’

  Carnifex pushed Annia in front of him, locking his knife hand around her neck. ‘Time for a little walk, boys, and I reckon we best stay away from your mates on that ship. You know the route – we did it yesterday. You first, Streak. One Ear next. And best do as you’re told – there’s plenty I can cut before I get to her throat.’

  As Cassius walked out of the hut towards the path, he heard Carnifex pick up a sword up from the floor. He glanced over at the harbour. Eborius was long gone and there was no sign of anyone on the deck of the Fortuna.

  ‘Eyes front, Streak,’ snapped Carnifex.

  After that, all Cassius heard from behind him was Annia, quietly weeping.

  By the time they emerged from the other side of the marsh, Indavara had been through a dozen different plans, none of which stood any real chance of success. As long as Carnifex kept his distance and that blade at Annia’s neck there was nothing he could do except bide his time, look for an opportunity.

  Corbulo should have let me kill him.

  Indavara barely noticed the sky lightening around him or the track ahead; all he could see was Annia on the floor of the hut, squirming under Carnifex’s boot. He imagined that blade sliding into her neck; life draining out of her.

  Indavara was certain of one thing: he would keep her alive, or die trying.

  Cassius’s hands formed fists as he walked. They had been so close. What had she done? Watched Eborius from the ship? Followed him to the hut, just to see the man responsible for her father’s death?

  Stupid, arrogant, headstrong little bitch.

  All three of them would pay for it; he was sure of that. What had Indavara said? You can’t give a man like that a second chance. Now he had it; and when Cassius thought of what the savage centurion might do to them, his throat dried and his legs almost buckled.

  I should have let Indavara kill him.

  Carnifex kept them moving and kept them in front of him: Cassius ten paces ahead, Indavara five. They walked on towards the Via Cyrenaica in silence, apart from an occasional whimper from Annia or a grunted order from Carnifex. Once she hissed a curse at him, but whatever he did by way of response kept her quiet for the remainder of the journey.

  When they reached the road, Carnifex directed them east towards the town until they came to an old wall at the edge of a field. He ordered Cassius and Indavara to kneel down behind it, facing the road. Cassius turned and watched him position himself behind a nearby tree, with Annia sitting beside him.

  ‘I told you eyes front, Streak!’

  Cassius could see part of the road through a hole in the wall. The first people to pass were two middle-aged local men whose horses galloped by, heading west out of town. A quarter of an hour later, six legionaries appeared from the opposite direction. They looked exhausted, trudging along in silence with their heads down.

  ‘Ha!’ cried Carnifex.

  The men stopped and looked at the tree.

  ‘It’s him!’

  ‘It’s the centurion!’

  ‘Over here,’ ordered Carnifex.

  Cassius heard the men scrabbling over the wall, then watched them drop to the ground close by.

  ‘Belletor, Salonius, run into town and find me some horses and a cart.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Two of the men sprinted away.

  ‘Marius, take hold of this one for me. Streak, One Ear – stand up. Keep facing the wall.’

  Cassius and Indavara got to their feet.

  Cassius heard a rush of movement behind him. Something thumped into his back and he was thrown forward. He cried out as his thighs and groin struck the sharp edges of the wall. Thick fingers gripped his neck and smacked his head down on to the cold rock. He heard a hollow thump and lights burst in his eyes.

  Cassius thought he might faint but the brightness faded away. He was left lying on the wall, watching as Carnifex moved on to Indavara, who had turned round to face him.

  ‘Got to get me some of your blood, remember, boy? You know what bleeds a lot?’

  Indavara brought his hands up but the centurion caught him cold.

  He drove his forehead down into Indavara’s, knocking the smaller man backwards into the wall.

  ‘The head.’

  Some of the men laughed. Cassius blinked away the sweat in his eyes. Indavara was lying flat, stretched out on the top of the wall. The blood came quickly, running down over his brow, his cheek, then on to the pale grey rock below.

  The irony of their reversal of fortune was not lost on Cassius as he lay on his side under a blanket, hands bound, staring down at the muddy contours of the road. It hadn’t taken long for the soldiers to return with a cart and now they were on the Via Roma, already well past the gorge and presumably headed for the mansion. Cassius wedged his foot against the other side of the cart to stay as still as possible. The pain from his head had lessened but every bump seemed to rattle through his skull. Indavara was in a worse state, he knew, but when Cassius had turned to check on him and Annia, the legionary guarding them had poked him with his sword.

  He thought about rolling out of the back of the cart. Assuming he could even get back up on his feet, with his hands tied he wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. And even if he could get away, they were far from Eborius and the men of the Second Century. In any case, he could hardly leave Indavara and Annia; the three of them would share the same fate now.

  The road ran up and down a series of short, steep ridges. At the peak of one, Cassius got a good look at Darnis and estimated they were at least five miles from the town. They had passed scores of fields (the vast majority untended and overgrown), several empty hamlets, even a handful of roadside inns, yet he hadn’t seen a single person.

  The cart turned right off the road and under an arch. On either side of it was a high wall running hundreds of feet in both directions. Just after Cassius heard the horses’ hooves clatter on stone, they came to a halt in a courtyard.

  The blanket was pulled away and a foul-breathed legionary grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him out of the cart. If Cassius hadn’t quickly swung his legs down he would have fallen flat on his back. Another legionary pulled him upright and held
on to him as two more of them dragged Indavara out. The skin had opened up nastily on his forehead and matted, blood-soaked hair stuck to his brow, but – to Cassius’s immense relief – the green eyes were still bright and alert.

  ‘Careful with her,’ said Carnifex, striding over as the men lowered a wriggling Annia to the ground. ‘We don’t get tender white meat like that very often.’

  The men laughed along with him.

  ‘To the barn. Salonius, go and get one of the girls to rustle me up some wine and a bit to eat.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Where are Procyon and Mutilus?’

  ‘Not back yet, sir.’

  ‘Send them to me when they are.’

  With two men to guard Cassius and four surrounding Indavara, Carnifex took hold of Annia himself and led them into a stable, past a series of empty but well-maintained stalls. They passed through another courtyard and into a barn.

  ‘What’s that stench?’ said the centurion. Ahead was a wide door, the bottom of which was obscured by the straw that covered much of the barn’s floor. The wall to the right was adorned with every type of metallic tool imaginable: rakes, knives, spikes, saws, scythes. To the left, hanging by chains from one of the five large nails hammered into the wall, was a man, or rather what had once been a man.

  The face was a sagging, rotten horror. Further down, bits of bone and stringy muscle could be seen beneath the greying flesh and torn tunic. Below the body, the straw was covered with a green-brown sludge.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Carnifex.

  ‘The, er, barley farmer, sir,’ said one of the men. ‘Didn’t pay his pasture dues. What was the name again?’

  The other legionaries shrugged or shook their heads.

  ‘Well whoever he was, he stinks,’ said Carnifex. ‘Get that bloody door open.’

  One of the men gestured towards the body. ‘Should we put it in the pit, sir?’

  ‘You want to poison him, you prick? No, we’ll have something fresh for him before long. Bury it.’

  Two soldiers set about removing the body.

  Carnifex pointed at Cassius and Indavara. ‘Hang ’em up.’